


A Feeling

by Deadpuff



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game), Halloween - Fandom, Halloween Movies - All Media Types, Michael Myers - Fandom
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blood and Gore, Consent, Death, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Mutilation, Oral Sex, Reader-Insert, Rough Kissing, Showers, Sleepy Cuddles, Smut, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-14 11:01:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14134728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deadpuff/pseuds/Deadpuff
Summary: You are a girl, a victim of a horrible being known as The Entity; who has thrown you into a world of, well, lot's of death mostly. You're at your wits end, when you come across a familiar face; Michael Myers. Fortunately you seem to evoke something other than killer instinct.





	1. Evoke

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoy my writing, please consider supporting me through my Ko-fi;  
> http://ko-fi.com/clockworkcryptid  
> Anyone kind enough to donate gets a little gift in return. <3

Blood, so warm it made steam curl into the air like wisps dampened the soil. Michael raised his glinting kitchen knife once more, arcing it downwards in one clean swipe. There was that ever so satisfying _shunk_ as it buried itself cleanly through the flesh of his victim. A choked out scream pierced the night; dying before its final note. He removed his weapon, eyeing it carefully for damage before lowering it.

He was at the Thompson House, an old decrepit two story home that was once the centerpiece of Coldwind Farm- he wasn't here by choice, but rather emerged from the fog just as he did every few days. It was here he found and farmed victims for The Entity; some sort of old god that held him here. Wherever _here_ was.

It mattered not to him who he killed for, just so long as he got to bury his knife in someone- preferably his obsession but anyone would do.

The rumble of a generator roaring to life drew his attention, and he turned to face the sudden lights. Footsteps devoured the ground between him and his prey, and his eyes caught a glimpse of movement. It was a man, limping from a gash in his thigh.

Michael's heart beat just a little faster and a rush of adrenalin and what he could only assume was excitement prickled in his chest as he pursued the man. It was only at times like this that he could feel.  
His whole life had been torturous, watching his sisters live their lives; joy, love, hope, sadness, while he felt nothing- like his emotions were trapped in some endless pit.

The man ducked to the side, trying to double back and Michael managed to snag him, grabbing him by the shoulders and throwing him to the ground. As the man lay stunned for a moment, and Michael took the opportunity to the sling the stranger over his shoulder.

The man screamed of course, struggling and kicking- but Michael held fast, turning away from the expanse of cornfields towards a rusted hook. These hooks were a common sight, punctuating the landscape with an unusual aura.

As if sensing his death, the man thrashed even harder, but it was in vain. With one solid heave of muscle, Michael lifted him from his shoulders onto the hook.

Another scream shook the air as the rusted tip punctured through the man, and as soon as his body stopped swinging it was set upon by long black spines. The Entity. It claimed his offering, ascending into the fog.

Michael rolled his shoulders- there was blood seeping into his suit… He would have to wash it later, he refused to be grimy like the rest of the killers that resided in this realm.

As he turned away, he felt that ever familiar cloak of emotionlessness blanket him, and he frowned beneath the mask.

Back to the nothingness, he would need to find another victim. These days the emptiness- the void just seemed to be getting worse. The euphoria from the stalking, the slaughtering… it had bathed him in emotion for hours and his obsession- those kills lasted days-, now it barely lasted a few minutes on normal kills, maybe an hour or so on those he had the pleasure and time to stalk.

The Entity seemed to have taken notice- at least at his productivity- as it offered victim after victim for him to harvest.  
He did not pretend to know how The Entity worked, he assumed it fed on sacrifices, although he occasionally saw the same faces, so they were not gone forever. Perhaps it was their memories it took, and something must have been offered in return, as they always came back just a little stronger. Or maybe not stronger… more challenging.

No matter. His thoughts could wait, there were more sacrifices to maim.

Rotating the knife in his hand he scanned the landscape for figures. In his first survey he saw nobody- but as his gaze raked back once again he spotted someone… Two someones.  
There were two women, one with a mess of dark hair- a face he recognized; was Nea her name? And the other who he hadn't crossed paths with before.

A smile threatened at the corners of his lips as he watched Nea wince, not noticing his gaze. It seemed she was being bandaged by the stranger, whom had her back to him. Stalking a few pace closer, he dropped into a crouch behind a particularly thick clump of grass.

Nea appeared to have a large slash along her shoulders, which the woman beside her was slowly stitching together. A red medical kit lay discarded to their right, marred with blood and dirt. Michael smirked, his fingers rotating the knife- he knew exactly how she had gotten such a wound. Eagerness tugged at his senses, and that intoxicating and addictive malice tinted the edges of his vision, pushing its way through the void. Now this sensation he knew, he found solace in it.

He wanted nothing more than to tear that carefully stitching apart thread by thread, he could practically hear the sound. His head turned towards the stranger, taking her in.

Her figure was quite nice, not picturesque like in the magazines, but appealing. Her hair was also unique, and she had a few notable features that made her stick out in his mind. The longer he watched the more he felt drawn in. She seemed to radiate life, a beacon in this muted and dark plain.

It wasn’t the same impression he was normally stricken with however, and a new feeling shocked him- it was something that he simply had no name for. He almost felt sick, the new sensation anything but unpleasant but so startlingly new. He shook his head, earning him Nea’s attention, and she gasped suddenly, pointing him out to the woman.

They both stood immediately, and the mysterious woman looped Nea’s arm around her neck, tugging her in the opposite direction. Michael rose as well, not wanting to lose sight of them- almost running. That too was unusual; he liked to stalk his prey not give into chase.

Yawning before the three of them was the exit, which was open wide, a glowing finish line to the survivors. How had he missed it? He was so enthralled he had somehow managed to not even hear the alarm that blared as the rusted gates parted.

Ahead Nea and her companion shot through the opening, the stranger pausing to push Nea through before turning to face him. He had stopped where the metal gates began, his knife at his side. His heart thrummed.

The stranger...Her face was anxious, but not altogether afraid. She held his gaze, and he felt cemented to the spot, as if she could see through him- or maybe into him-before she finally broke away, running after Nea.

As her silhouette faded, Michael clutched his knife ever harder. It was as if he’d been struck by lightning, he felt so much at once, someone had uncorked a bottle waiting to burst.


	2. Oink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You enter another trial, and find yourself with half the luck of your last. When the last generator comes to life you find yourself no closer to freedom...

_“When you come to the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on.”_  ~ Franklin D. Roosevelt  
  
  
  
  
Metallic thrumming filled the air, one long monotonous note that carried throughout the whole building. You were in some sort of meat plant if you had to guess, blood stained the floors in trails and splatters, and more than once you came across the stinking mutilated carcass's of pigs. It was a disgusting sight, further worsened by the _smell._  
  
Minutes dragged on like hours as you carefully crept about the building, it was like a bloody maze. More than one level divided you from your teammates, and you saw neither hide nor hair of them.  
  
Rubbing your arms for warmth you crouched alongside a generator, fingers nimbly pinching out the severed wires. You got to work twisting them together, hissing a curse as you received a mild shock. In your peripheral vision you caught sight of a red sweater, as its owner slunk low to the ground. Claudette! Thank God, another survivor!  
  
As you leaned back to offer a silent wave you were stunned by the sight; a pig's head. A severed pig’s _fucking head_. Falling back on your butt you turned frantically from what you assumed was a woman, who lunged towards you with startling speed. Was this a killer?  
  
A metallic clang let you know you she missed, and you crawled to your feet, only to be dragged back down and she snagged your ankle.  
  
Rolling onto your back you kicked at her, your foot meeting her face with a muted grunt of pain. Apparently it was some sort of mask? She recovered swiftly, her grasp unrelenting. She used her free hand to hold down one of your arms; pinning it at the wrist. Releasing her other from your ankle, she straddled your waist, using her free hand she fished around for some metallic object hooked to her hip.  
  
It almost looked like a bear trap… The realization dawned on you, and your mouth gaped in horror. Using your unpinned hand you seized her wrist, and the two of you struggled over the object. In a cry of fury, she released your other hand and unsheathed a knife on her wrist, aiming to slash your chest. You rolled as soon as she moved, and her blade scored a deep line from the front of your ribs all the way across your side, almost to the center of your back.    
  
The pain would have been beyond extreme, but you were numb thanks to adrenaline. Countering her weight you managed to roll free, and you failed to waste even a second escaping. With a burst of speed you ran through several rooms, dropping through a square hole in the cement to the floor below.  
  
Somewhere in the distance a generator roared to life, followed by another in the expanse above you. Pain began seeping into your side, and you felt a sudden exhaustion. Placing one hand over the worst of the wound (it was too long to cover in entirety) you began limping in the opposite direction you had come.  
  
You trod on for several minutes, before slowing to rest beside a stack of boxes.  
  
A gentle gasp sounded from somewhere behind you and you tensed, rounding suddenly. Your eyes met another red jacket and you turned to run, feeling gentle hands grab hold of your shoulders.  
  
“It’s me.” Claudette said softly, and you almost melted on the spot with relief. Turning, you wrapped her in a shaky hug, which she received with a reassuring smile.  
  
Taking your hand she escorted you to a rather secluded corner, in what appeared to be  bloodied bathroom. A gen sat chugging along sadly, and you bussied yourself with working on it as she scoped out your wound. It must have looked bad, as her face was tense.  
  
Your fellow Trial Mates had seen some heavy gore, and were desensitized to the view, not that it was ever pleasant.   
  
Tugging as a bag slung across her shoulders, she produced a med kit, which looked to be thin on supplies. Cleaning the gash first, she dabbed away at the steady lines of blood before she set upon it with a crushed box of butterfly stitches. While not nearly as good as a needle and thread, it was all she had on hand. The pain made your skin clammy, and you were biting your lip, hard, to keep from yelping.  
  
Using your shirt, you wiped away the sweat beading at your brow, your fingers working at something lodged in the cogs. At your side Claudette placed a wide bandage across your wound, just as the generator roared to life.   
  
As soon as the lights came on a figure flooded the door, long black hair parting at the gnarled pig’s snout.  
  
_Snick!_  
  
Silver glinted at the killers side, and she lunged suddenly towards the two of you. Diving to the right, you narrowly avoided another jab. Claudette hot on your tail you erupted into the hallway, dodging left and right through the narrow corridors.  
  
You ran until the hair on your arms once again lie flat, signaling the killer was no longer near. In your haste you popped some of the butterfly stitches. Reaching a hand back you placed it on your side, a frown on your lips as you felt warm sticky blood. You had to get out fast.  
  
From the edge of your vision you saw Claudette again, looking ashy as she snuck along a hallway to your left. Getting to your feet, you followed quickly in tow. Was she hurt? You couldn’t hear any mewls of pain. Praying she was alright you followed, tracing her steps.  
  
Somewhere far behind you a generator snarled into action. Yes! That was the last one, you could escape!  
  
Jogging a few paces you spotted a shadow swiftly move out of view, and followed it. Rounding another stack of discarded boxes, you found yourself in front of a narrow tunnel. It had the same brick you recognized on either side, albeit far smaller than the standard. In fact you had never seen a gate like this.  
  
At the end of the tunnel you saw her again; Claudette! She must have been escaping too. You knew her silhouette as well as your own. That being said, she looked off- almost smoky. You shook your head, must have been the pain.  
Rushing in after her, you felt at ease as the linoleum floor gave way to springy grass.  
  
Thank god, you were out. Generally by the time you met the fire’s warmth your wounds would gradually seal. You were eager to have the pain over and done with; your whole flank felt like it was on fire.   
  
Watching your feet as you struggled along, you noted the grass was getting shorter, and greener, it almost appeared to be lawn. It was strange…  
  
Light came into view and you surged towards it, stopping short as the fog around you suddenly dissipated.  
  
  
  
Wait, what?  
  
  
  
Stretching before you was not the comfortable glow of the fire, but rather… light posts. Your eyes searched for signs of where the hell you were, before you caught sight of a street-sign. Lampkin Lane; it read. Were you… out? This couldn’t be another trial, right? You hadn’t even rested yet. That wasn’t possible right?  
  
Questions swirled in your groggy, pain addled mind. The homes around you looked almost alive, most had their lights off, but they weren't at all decrepit. A single house in the center of the street held your attention, as the lights were on. This couldn’t be the entity… that house had power!  
  
Head tilting, you looked up into the window; you could see a figure but you couldn’t quite make out their form. Claudette maybe? Had she found some secret loophole? Or were you truly free?  
  
Breathing heavily, you began making your way over to the stoop of the house, pausing before the closed door. You raised a hand to knock, when a prickle went down your spine. Something wasn’t right.  
Heavy footsteps paced towards the door, and you found yourself unable to hold ground.  
  
With a whirl you ran, across the street and over the neighboring fence. You landed soft, but a cry escaped your lips as your wound twisted.  
  
You crawled a few paces into a nearby bush, looking out towards the house. The door was closed tight still. You almost missed the tall man standing in the shadow of the porch. Had he come from the back? He was wearing blue… You squinted to see more clearly, gasping as you recognized Michael Myers.  
  
His head turned a fraction in your direction. You didn't dare move, your whole body was taunt with anxiety. While you had met him in a trial recently, you were fortunate enough not to have felt his blade.  
  
Fumbling on the ground, your finger found purchase on a stone and you turned, throwing it as hard as you could across the street. It clacked against the houses siding, and he turned in that direction, marching on.  
  
You got to you feet slowly, easing out of the bush, and back the opposite way you came. Perhaps you still had a chance to leave? Your pace brisk, you returned to the place the gate had stood, only to find it gone. It was as if it had been smoothed from your vision. Where it stood there were now just further rows of houses.  
  
Not wanting to risk being seen, you limped into the shadow of the fence, scanning the streets for that stark white mask. Blood loss made your vision spotty, and you leaned to the side, feeling lightheaded. Your side felt sticky where your arm rested. Somewhere a boot scuffed pavement.  
  
Was it him? Forcing yourself into a standing position you noticed him walking steadily towards you.  
  
Running as fast as you could manage, you glanced over your shoulder; “Fuck off!” you spat, rounding towards a house. The man door to the garage was open a crack, and you shoved it the rest of the way open. Your hands felt icy and clumsy as you gripped the knob of the door leading into the house.  
  
You stumbled into what looked like a laundry room, and no sooner than when you slammed the door did it fly open again.  
Your legs gave out, and you turned to face you hunter. Defiance and anxiety sharpened your gaze and you glared at him. Your faintness made you bold.  
  
He set upon you immediately, reaching a hand out to grab you. Survival instincts kicked in and you slapped it away, backing up until  your back hit a wall. He looked furious, you could hear him panting from behind the mask.  
  
“Try me.” You threatened. There was nothing you could do, you couldn't feel anything except your pounding heart, your legs felt like they weren't even attached anymore. Myers growled in retort, the blade flashing at his side. It found its way into the wall by your face. The rattle it made from the impact was all you could hear, before you fell into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up will be a little retelling in our boi Michael's perspective, thanks for reading so far! c:


	3. Chase

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael rests after his trial, only to find a stranger in his realm. In a confusing flurry of emotions, he confronts the mystery girl.

  
Michael breathed a sigh, rubbing his eyes. He sat on the edge of his old childhood bed, the mask he always wore peering back at him from its place on his bedpost. It was late- sometime in the night, even though it was always night here. While he didn’t care for his old life, he liked the change it brought; new season, sunrises and sunsets… Here it was always dark. Well, mostly dark, the atmosphere lightened at times to show passing but the sky never tinted more than a limp neutral grey.   
  
He felt off, ever since he had come across that girl. Her eyes, they made him feel so alive. Her fear, it made his gnarled heart twist, not in pleasure but in pain. Empathy was what he felt, not that he had a name for it. Never had such an emotion crossed him. It still tinted him with a sick and uncomfortable sensation. His fingers tugged absently at a stray thread on the hem of his pants.   
  
A noise outside made him stir, and he stood up suddenly, his form taking up the span of the window. There wasn't supposed to be another trial until later, besides, he was in his own realm, where electricity thrummed and water still flowed; his old home still kept its shape. What could this possibly be? He hoped it wasn't another killer. He didn't know if they could enter one another's realms and he wasn't keen on a fight.   
  
Scanning the street, he saw a woman.   
Normally this would make his malice prickle, the vile seed within him rising to flourish into a whole creature of evil. But he felt no such desire.  
In fact he felt further sickened.   
Even hunched over he recognized her figure.   
  
She was hurt that much was clear, nobody kept a position such as that unless they were wounded, he knew that well enough.  
He needed to do something.   
Grabbing the mask he slid it over his face, his hands automatically clutching the knife on his nightstand. He took the stairs three at a time, and arrived on the landing within moments. His heart beat faster, she was close.   
  
He opened the door in a single beat and stepped out into the cool night air. Just like that, she was gone. Glancing from left to right, he saw nothing.   
  
Fuck. This stupid emotion, it twisted within him again. There was no way it had been her. He must truly have been ill, maybe he had come down with a fever, giving him illness and hallucinations. It had been ages since he was last given medication, perhaps whatever those morons had been trying to ‘fix’ had caught up to him.   
  
His thoughts were interrupted as a clack echoed to his left, and he immediately set upon the noise. Almost running he met the scene of the source, frantically looking to and fro for any movement. Anger made his cheeks hot as he spotted the offending rock. He picked it up in his free hand and threw it; as hard as he could up the street. It skittered and bounced to a stop short of a form.   
  
At his streets corner he saw her again. Small in the distance, but unmistakably real. The street lamps lit up a thin trail of blood between them. Her whole side was stained with red. What the hell had happened?   
  
He began walking towards her. She was just staring down the street. At the sound of his steps she struggled to run away. Her wounds must have been bad, for she was slow and clumsy. Even so, the chase made a primal part of himself awaken. Why did she have to run? It just made him want the chase ever more.   
  
Long legs ate up the ground and he heard her rasping breath.   
  
Gaze meeting hers as she turned, he was surprised to hear her cuss at him. He offered no words in response, his voice dead in his throat.   
  
Inside his emotions fought, the predatory desire to kill baring fangs at the blossom of empathy for the girl.   
  
She was giving it her all, making off into neighbor's garage, he stormed after his fixation; his hand subconsciously tightening on the knife. Nearly on her heels he was about to snag her when the door slammed into his face.   
  
Furious, he flung it open again, so hard the wall shuddered. There she was, collapsed on the ground; a lamb cornered before the jaws of a lion. While clearly at the end of her strength, her eyes were still defiant, and he caught himself lost in them.   
  
He hesitated as he reached out to her, forgetting himself for a moment, only to meet a cold and weak slap of resilience.

It infuriated him!  
She was _nothing_ , dead on her feet but she still resisted.  
  
“Try me.” She had hissed, and he growled in response, his hand moving before he could think.   
  
  
With every ounce of furious strength he raised the blade over his head, burying it deep.  
  
  
Her head pitched to the side and he was satisfied it was done. He never missed, his reactions always calculated and sharp.   
  
  
He didn’t realize he was crying, tears streaking down his cheeks in a flow of remorse and regret. Satisfaction, disappointment, grief, hurt they were all muddled within him.   
  
This suffering it was worse than the void, far worse. It _hurt_ not like a cut or a bruise, he had felt nothing like it.  
  
His hand fell from the blade, landing on hers and he stared down at her bloody fingers. Compared to his calloused hands they looked smooth and slender. He rested it there, feeling the coldness of her skin mingle with the warm and tacky crimson.  
  
Her finger twitched and his head jerked up. He saw the knife in the wall, still silver and unmarred.   
  
She was alive?   
  
Crawling a few paces forward, he lopped an arm around her back, and the other under her legs, and stood. He carried her like a bride, her head against his chest. He was at a loss.   
  
Forgetting his knife he immediately returned home, leaving the front door wide open in his haste. He placed her on the kitchen table, shoving aside whatever was left atop of it.   
  
Entering the bathroom, he grabbed a medical kit, worn with age and brought it to the table side.   
  
His victim breathed shallow breaths, her left side soaked. Peeling up her shirt, he tended to the wound, stitching it with swift and precise fingers; peeling away the old precautions with gentle thoroughness.   
Sure, he was a killer, but an organized one. He knew what he was doing.   
  
He cleaned away the excess blood, and wrapped it tightly in bandages that thankfully didn’t stain crimson.   
  
Rising, he fetched some clothes; his own, baggy but warm and dry, and stripped her of her own soiled garments. In a bowl he drew warm water, which he used along with a cloth to meticulously wipe away the crimson gore.   
  
Her skin was so soft, her tone pale with the loss but still gorgeous. Her face was peaceful, and he cupped her cheek, stroking it was a calloused thumb. He would have liked to leave her as was, if simply for his own pleasure of aesthetic, but she felt cool to the touch, so he dressed her carefully in a shirt and trousers. They hung loose on her frame, and he took her in his arms again with care, bringing her upstairs to his room   


He lay her in his bed, tucking the sheets in, before sitting on the bedside, a hand on her hip.  
  
Whatever desire he had harbored over maiming her was gone.   
He hoped with every fiber he had she would make it, he didn't think he could bare the feeling of loss again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this at 2am in a spurt, apologizes for the spelling and grammatical mistakes. ^^;


	4. Someone to Kill For

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You wake up to what appears to be an empty home; up until you come in contact with you savior. After the initial shock, you come to some interesting conclusions.

You breathed a deep sigh, tugging the blankets up to your chin.  
  
Cozy.  
Warm.  
You hadn’t felt this good in a while. Dozing  for a little while longer, you eventually stretched, opening your eyes.  
  
Grogginess made your limbs heavy.  
  
You were confused.  
__  
_Where am I? This isn’t my bedroom…_  
  
You propped yourself up on an elbow, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.   
  
There was another heartbeat of confusion before the memories of the trials all came crashing back. Your blood turned icy cold.  
  
 Where the hell? This wasn’t the fireside by a long shot, nor was it the home of anyone you knew. Sitting up suddenly you let out a half yelp as you wrenched your still-healing flank.  
  
So you were still in this nightmare.  
You rolled onto your good side, noting that you weren't in your normal clothes. Peeling up the baggy shirt that hung around your torso, you took a good look at your slash-site.  
  
There was nothing but stark white bandages.  
  
Biting your lip, you decided to peek.  
  
Pulling up the wrapping with your thumb and forefinger you saw a tidy wound, neatly stitched up with expert precision. It looked almost as if it were done by a machine.  
  
_Who..?_  
  
You lay back down again letting the bandaging snap back into place, resting your hand on your forehead. Your last memory… what was it?  
  
  
_Fear, running, lungs burning, vision fading, the flash of metal being buried in the wall beside your head._  
__  
__  
Someone must have saved you after you lost consciousness. Maybe Claudette had made it after all? She was the only one who had this kind of precise stitching that you could think of; and you had seen that shadowy figure in the exit gates… It almost seamed too good to be true.  
  
Somewhere in the floor below you a person was walking.  
  
Guess there was only one way to find out.  
  
Slinging your legs off the side of the bed, you stood, catching the wall as you found yourself weak and a bit lightheaded still. Hunger gnawed at your guts, which you found curious. Generally you never felt hunger… or thirst; just tiredness and pain, The Entity made it that way. But here, wherever here was you began feeling the sensation.  
  
Keeping your footsteps light, you found yourself in a hallway. It had a plush carpet, and the walls were adorned with family pictures of people you didn't recognize. Most of them were of young women, probably the daughters of the homewoners you suspected. There was a family picture in the center, but it was destroyed, all the faces cut out.  
  
Creepy.  
  
Carefully, you tiptoed your way down the stairs.  
  
The end of the stairway opened up into a living room, and you caught sight of a shadow moving methodically in the kitchen next. There she was!  
  
Running a hand through your mess of bed-head you approached her, half leaning in the entryway.  
  
You saw the table first; there was trash littered on the ground around it, the surface still sticky with drying blood. There were wrappers for gauze and bandages tossed haphazardly across the whole surface. A damp and gore darkened rag lie stiff and dry to the side. It looked like a butchers table.   
  
So that’s where you had been fixed up...  
  
“Hey, um, thanks for-” Your voice died as you took in the figure; who was definitely not Claudette. It was a man, who had his back turned to you.  
  
He had a mess of short dark hair, and he was wearing a blue coveralls. The top portion was unbuttoned the sleeves tied around his waste, revealing bulky shoulders and forearms. He was wearing a clean white tank top, which was taunt over his back muscles. You froze in place, blanching.  
  
His head turned slightly in your direction; maskless. You took a stiff half a step back. His head turned back to what he was doing, and you noted the broad kitchen knife in his grasp. He was at the kitchen counter; leaning over a wet stone, passing the blade over it with methodical precision.  
  
He paused for a moment, raising his weapon and you stiffened; he seemed to be having some kind of internal debate.  
You were frozen, hands clenched in apprehension.  
  
With supernatural speed he swung the blade in a horizontal ark, the tip pointing in your direction. You flinched, staggering, but he didn’t so much as look at you. He jutted the blade slightly, and you realized he was pointing at the fridge. You didn't move, your eyes were locked on the figure.  
  
Here you were; in the home of Michael Myers.  
And he was offering his fridge for you to raid.  
You felt like fainting. And laughing, for the hysteric of the whole situation.   
  
Not wanting to do anything he disproved of you approached the fridge, yanking the door open. It was fully stocked, which surprised you.  
You couldn't remember the last time you ate.  
Peeking past the door you looked to where Michael had stood, but he was gone.  
  
Outside you could see it was pitch black, the atmosphere beyond the window thick with fog so intense it was as if the glass panes were painted over with grey. Your heartbeat was normal, so you assumed Michael was truly gone.  
  
Hunger made you return your attention to the fridge and you swiftly made yourself a snack. You ate without cutlery, hunger temporarily making you forget yourself. When you were sated, you turned your attention to the door; like hell you were going to stay here.  
  
Maybe he had spared you now, but you were doubtful he would be so merciful a second time.  
  
With one last cautious look around, you tried the doorknob. Inky black tendrils laced themselves around the knobs, stretching out to touch your hand. You reeled back immediately, shaking the substance free from your skin. What the hell?  
  
You swiftly moved to the window, reaching for the latch but before you could snag it, you spotted familiar slender spines creeping over the device. Anytime you moved your digitts towards it, they would strike out at you like some sort of aggressive little beast. It seemed the Entity was preventing you from leaving.  
  
You spent the rest of your time awake poking through the house. The T.V. worked, as did the lights in every room, along with most of the other appliances. As you investigated, you let your mind wander.  
  
_Why hadn't he killed you yet?_  
  
You had faced him once before, and he was both efficient and merciless. He seemed to lack even the most basic sense of remorse, and yet he had stitched your wounds. Taking a seat on the living room couch, you tucked your feet under you, one hand resting on your wound.  
  
The coffee table was littered with news clippings and files, and you leaned over and snagged one.  
  
_Halloween Tragedy; Teen Brutally Murdered._ __  
__  
The headline read. You skimmed the article, _Myers family eldest daughter found dead, suspect in custody._ You didn't have to spectate on who said killer was. Setting the aged yellow paper down, you reached next for a file, opening it open with tense curiosity.  
  
It appeared to be a whole book of both letters and medical reports; all of which dated from some sort of Mental Institute. Their dates ranged across the span of what looked to be about fifteen years.   
  
_Appears to show no progress; no response to medication of any dosage. Never speaks. Becomes obsessed with certain individuals. Appears to only feel emotion when interacting with said obsessions. Never remorseful, only registers excitement._ Read some of the notes. Your forehead wrinkled in worry. From what you knew this lined up, but what had changed? He had spared you once at the end of your prior trial with him, and then saved you again now…  
  
  
Letting the file flop onto the table you lay back, breathing a sigh. As far as you could remember Myers had been brutal at the beginning of his reign… that being said his kills had been sloppier as of late, almost as if he was losing interest. At least so you had heard from your allies by the fireside.  
  
Puzzled you ran your fingers through your hair again; it was tangled and oily. You paused, if there was electricity, then surely there would be hot water? Excited, you got to your feet, swiftling taking the stairs up to the top floor. You entered the master bedroom, finding- much to your delight- a sprawling tub and shower.  
  
You cranked the knob, and it sputtered.  
  
Then, with a loud chug, released a flow of steaming water. You nearly wept with joy.  
  
Wasting no time, you stripped the plus size clothes from your body, letting them fall to the floor. You also swiftly undid the bandages, leaving them in a neat pile on the countertop.  
  
The bathtub was huge, with jacuzzi jets build into the sides. It filled quickly and you wasted no time easing yourself into the hot water. It made your wound sting bitterly, but the sensation on your tired muscles made it more than worth it. It was as if the heat sunk into your very bones, easing the tension little by little.   
  
You soaked for what must have been over an hour, before eventually rising on jello legs to drain the water and start up the shower. It was like the house had infinite hot water, it was amazing.  
  
As you began your shower, you took note of the detachable shower head, making good use of it before actually getting to the dirty work.  
  
You felt both relaxed and _satisfied._  
  
Gathering the shampoo at the side you lathered up, feeling lighter as you rinsed away the oil and grime. You scrubbed away at yourself until the blackened soles of your feet were soft and pink, and your hair was silken with conditioner. Pulling back the curtain you let the cool air bathe your figure; watching with lazy eyes as the steam curled away.   
  
Stepping from the shower, you poked around for a towel; and found one resting on the edge of the bathroom counter. Wrapping it around yourself without a second thought, you almost purred with delight; it was thick and soft, plush even- and felt so delightfully _good._  
  
Padding down the carpeted hall, you rounded the doorway into the room you had awoken in, only to stop suddenly.  
  
  
Michael was back.  
  
  
He was once again facing away from you, and appeared to be in the middle of undressing. His coveralls were stained dark with crimson, significantly more than before. At your approach he turned, and the two of you locked eyes; or at least, you fixed yours on the holes of his mask.  
  
He regarded you with interest, his head shifting ever so slightly down as he drank in your form, you broke contact first, unsure of where to go or what to do. He seemed unperturbed. Resuming his actions, he stripped away his bloodied clothes; then the tank top, which was stuck to his body with sweat.  
  
He was built like a sculpture, you could see every muscle with acute definition, his skin smooth and pale like marble. He had a few raised marks, no doubts scars from clashes with his victims. Catching yourself staring you looked away.  
  
“S-sorry.” You muttered, backpedaling out the door and back into the hall.  
  
You didn’t hear his footsteps, but he appeared a second or two later, and walked passed you without incident. You didn't really consider him as large before, but as he passed you had to shuffle to the side to avoid bumping shoulders. He was completely nude, and your cheeks flushed. You didn’t move until the shower started, which you took as your queue to dive back into the bedroom.  
  
There were clothes folded on the bed; which at some point he had made. The sheets were pulled tight with surgical precision, and an extra pillow was stuffed beside the one you had used. You glanced to the clothes; had he been waiting for you? You dressed quickly, re-wrapping your wound with a generous heap of bandage he had left on the nightstand.  
  
Feeling suddenly drained, you tucked yourself in without a second thought and were immediately embraced by a deep sleep.  
  
* * *  
  
_You were running, barefoot and bloodied. Woods stretched around you with ominous tension. Somewhere behind you the revving of a chainsaw could be heard. Heavy footfalls gained on you._ __  
__  
_Shit!_ __  
__  
_You pushed yourself to run harder, but your lungs already burned, enough so that your vision was spotty. He was getting closer!_  
Ahead was a muddy embankment and you lept to it, hands burrowing into sopping soil as you tried to crawl your way to safety. Your knee slipped and stone bit deep into your skin. It didn't matter; you were almost at the top! Below you your attacker waited  and in his massive hands the chainsaw purred with a vengeance. Reaching for a root you hoisted yourself up the final incline, only for it to break. __  
__  
_Tumbling backwards you slid down the hill  on your back, eyes meeting the leathery face of your hunter. He raised his chainsaw._ __  
__  
You awoke before it could bury itself in your flesh, breathing hard.  
Bile was thick in your throat and tears pricked the corners of your eyes.   
That had been your first trial. __  
You covered your mouth, feeling a sob rack your frame.  
  
You felt the bed move as a figure sat up beside you.  
You closed your eyes, trying to stifle your cries. A warm and sturdy arm wrapped your shoulders, and you allowed yourself to be pulled close.  
  
Michael held you until your breathing evened, running a hand through your hair as you eased into him. You didn’t want to admit it, but it was comforting.  
  
You liked the assurance.    
  
He leaned back slowly, and you lay down with him, resting your head against his chest. He seemed stiff, unsure of what he should do. You could actually hear his heartbeat, it was hammering away.  
  
You were perplexed.  
  
With your free hand you traced a circle on his skin, and listened as his heart jumped. He didn’t make any noise, but you could feel the reaction. His arm was under you, with his hand resting on the small of your back.  
  
The whole situation was so _odd._ This acute killer had just comforted you, and now he was nervous?  
  
You reviewed what you knew and suddenly it clicked.  
  
For whatever reason you had made him feel… something? The Entity must have noticed and sent you directly to his realm to test the theory, which was confirmed when he spared you. Then it kept you trapped in the house so Michael would have something... to kill for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading so far! I really appreciate the comments a kudos, they really keep me motivated to update.  
> Next chapter will probably be the smutty one, so bare with me. lol I know I said that last time but this time I'm serious!


	5. Suds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Home alone, you decide to release your inner housewife and tidy up. When the dust bunnies settle however you find yourself in the beginnings of a very, very heated encounter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you read, I just wanted to thank everyone for the ongoing support. I love reading your comments, it really keeps me motivated and wanting to write more! <3 As usual, I'm posting this way to early in the morning so be ready for the usual pre-edit errors. 
> 
> Additionally I finally got to writing my first smut, so enjoy! ovo/

Night gave way to day and you awoke to pale grey light filtering in through the windows. The space beside you was warm, but empty. You tried not to feel disappointed, and instead got up. Hunger motivated you, so you rose swiftly, making your way back downstairs.  
  
As you entered the kitchen, you kind of hoped Michael would be there, but it too was empty. It was as if he had vanished. Stealth was definitely his forte, but as far as you could tell he was truly gone. Perhaps another trial had begun?  
  
You rolled your shoulders in a shrug, popping open the fridge. You were surprised to see the same food again, hadn’t you eaten this yesterday..? That was curious, did this realm reset in some way?  
  
Taking out a carton of eggs and some butter, you snooped around for a pan, finding one tucked away in a cupboard. You hadn't cooked in _ages._ Did you even know how? The thought struck you, and you frowned, before pushing the sensation away.  
  
  
Cranking the heat, you let the butter melt, before cracking in two eggs, frying them up just the way you liked them. Finding plates was another thing, and you discovered some in another far away cabinet. If you were staying here, you might as well get the layout down.   
  
Next up was coffee and then toast, which you assemble swiftly in a hunger motivated haste. You didn't bother to sit, just leaned against the counter and ate, you eyes fixed on the mess of a kitchen table.   
  
You weren't one for cleaning either- but the mess was almost an insult to the rest of the room; which was neat and tidy. You knew how you were going to spend your day.   
  
Snagging wrapper after wrapper, you shuffled them into a trash bag from beneath the sink, reorganizing the medical kit and then tackling the rag and blood. It went into the trash without a second thought, and you filled up a bowl with water in the bathroom. There was cleaner under the sink- thankfully- and you used it to scrub away the stains.   
  
Stepping back, you felt beyond satisfied with your work. On a roll, you went on the tackle your dishes, and then the mess of papers in the living room. By the time you were done your forehead was beaded with sweat, and you felt like an honest to god housewife.   
  
If anything, it was theraputic, the sensation of a normal life easing your mind. This place; the trials, the stress had eaten you alive, but now you were beginning to regain a portion of yourself.   
  
Feeling hot, you decided to opt for a quick shower, that was you would be ready to... To… To talk to Michael. The idea scared you, really, but you wanted to know what he knew of this place, why he had spared you, and cared for you; from the source itself.   
  
Squaring your shoulders with resolve, you stripped swiftly, entering the shower and cranking the water until steam began to cloud the air.   
  
You hadn’t even gotten your hair wet when you heard someone enter the room. You froze, hands dropping to cover your chest. You peaked around the curtain to the open door.   
  
He was back. He was still fully dressed, but this time you could see a dark gash across his chest, cutting right through his uniform and into his pale skin. Your hand went to your mouth in surprise, but he seemed unperturbed.   
  
He gestured to the shower. “Oh, I- I’ll be out in a second, I-” You stammered, as he took a few steps towards you. He began to unbutton his suit, and you quickly slipped back behind the protection of the curtain.   
  
Your hair was still frothy with shampoo and you began frantically trying to rinse it out. Behind you, cool air swirled again your skin as the curtain parted.   
  
Your mind went completely blank, and you were unsure of what to do. The scene from that movie; Psycho  kept flashing in your brain and you waited for him to stab you. But of course he didn’t. In fact, he instead reached over you, tilting the shower head so it arked over you. You could feel his skin press against your back, and electricity shot through your body.   
  
You looked to the floor of the shower, watching as crimson water flowed from behind you down the drain.   
  
You could hear splashing behind you, and suds began sluggishly flowing past your feet. “Are you okay?” You asked after a moment, mustering up the courage to turn around. Steam obscured his expression from your view, but he offered a grunt in acknowledgement.   
  
“Let me look.” You added, taking a step towards him. He didn’t move away- not that the space really allowed for it- and you placed a hand against his chest, examining the wound. It was already smaller than you had seen prior, now just maring the skin across his left peck.   
  
As you studied it, he sealed the distance between the two of you, one hand on your cheek. Taken aback, you let out a little yelp, and he all but purred in response.   
  
It was almost as if you were moulded together, you could feel the muscles of his torso taunt again the soft skin of your tummy. He pulled your lips to his, and you were starstruck.   
  
His lips were chapped, but less so than you would have expected, and the kiss was soft and sweet. Feeling greedy, you in turn reached for his face; deepening the kiss. The boldness seemed to affect him, and he pushed back, before suddenly breaking away.   
  
For a moment you thought you had screwed up but he had actually taken the lapse to move his lips to your neck. You gasped as he gently bit into your skin, the sensation sending shivers across you skin. You could feel him smiling. He turned the both of you and pushed your back again the wall.   
  
Hand falling from his face you instead ran your fingers along his muscular forearm, feeling it flex at your mere contact. Pressure let you know he had left behind a hickey, and his mouth travel down your neck to your chest in a trail of kisses.   
  
With your free hand you took his, placing it over your now pounding heart. Your entire body was alive, your breath quick and short.   
  
He flexed his fingers once, giving your breast a brief squeeze before replacing it with his mouth. You gasped audibly as the sensation, nails digging into his forearms. This only spurred him on, he stayed there for several moments much to your delight.   
  
He pulled away for a moment, kissing you again, softly, on the mouth. His hips were pushed again yours, and you could feel his cock brush against your sensitive skin. Deviously you began grind your hips against him, and you thought you heard a huff of breath in surprise. Caught in the moment, you slide a hand down his torso, wrapping your slender fingers around member.   
  
He didn’t move to stop you, so you took it as a signal to continue. You could feel his breath on your skin, and a smile played at your lips. You slowed your pace, ending on the up stroke and rubbing a thumb against his head. He groaned in response, the noise itself making you feel both powerful and very, very turned on.   
  
At your pause, he moved, grabbing your wrists and tugging you away from him, he pinned them above your head with one hand, and with the other teased your clit. You bit your lip, feeling his gaze watching your face with great attentiveness. You were already far beyond wet, but he still teased, before finally pressing a finger inside you.  
  
It was followed almost immediately by a second and you gasped, he was precise finding your spot in moments thank to the careful observation of your expression. But just before you could cum he withdrew, leaving you feeling gasping in desperation. You didn’t need to see his face to know he was grinning. Tugging away your wrists you turned, pushing your ass up against him.   
  
“Fuck me.” You demanded, in one short breath and he obliged. He was broad and long, and you could feel every last inch of him as he thrusted at a growingly rapid pace. You were still close thanks to the finger fucking, and the pressure was immense. He had one hand on your breast the other between your legs. It didn't take long, and after a heartbeat you came, your moans reverberating in the shower.He pulled out seconds after, and your lust driven mind was almost disappointed.   
  
For a moment you stood, regaining your breath, before you stretched out a hand to turn of the water. You exited first, wrapping yourself in another one of those plush towels, and Michael followed shortly there after. The atmosphere around him was sunny, and it was downright bizarre; not that you could keep from smiling.   
  
You lead the way back to the bedroom, toweling off and then crawling into bed, without so much as pausing to dress. He follow in suit, laying on his back. You snuggled up to him immediately, and he placed a kiss on your forehead, before reclining again. 


End file.
